


Baby Julia: Sleeping Sand, Windy Smile

by ohdrey89



Series: Deductive Deviations [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angry John, Childbirth, Death in Childbirth, Doctor John Watson, F/M, Hospitals, POV Sherlock Holmes, Papa John, Pregnancy, Pregnancy complications, Sherlock's Coat, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Sherlock's Violin, Sherlock's Voice, Uncle Mycroft, Uncle Sherlock, labor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:24:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2666831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdrey89/pseuds/ohdrey89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tender view into the lives of the Watson clan, with Sherlock of course. Mary gives birth to a baby girl, Julia. A tiny little baby that seems to leave chaos in her wake. John still angry at his wife, will that change when she needs his care? Sherlock is left holding his niece, will she make him feel sentiment? </p><p>What changes can this new baby bring? Find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby Julia: Sleeping Sand, Windy Smile

**Author's Note:**

> I give you all a little surprise, a story I hadn't planned on writing at all. It came to me during a week I spent at my old house before going to Maryland for a wedding. It just sort of came to me while I struggled to sleep, and my brother was snoring on the couch next to me, heh. But it came to me so I didn't stop myself from writing it! It's just a little thing but I liked it. I like thinking of what a high functioning sociopath consulting detective would do when handed a baby. Don't you? I know what it sounds like!! It sounds like endless adorableness to meeee!!!! 
> 
> Hope you all think so too!!!
> 
> Disclaimer: Just establishing here and now the usual in ways of disclaimers, what everyone else knows here that the whole world knows. We are all unaffiliated from these series and its creators, other than our unswerving love for each of them. We make no profit, and seek none. We merely just wish to express ourselves entertain each other and play around with the characters for a little bit.

“Push Mrs. Watson! PUSH!!!” The doctor between Mary Watson’s legs continued to shout over the din of Mary’s pained yelling as she endeavored to give birth to their awaiting daughter Julia. Mary who was flushed from the exertion failed to see what good it would do for the doctor to shout at her bits while she struggled through the “rigors of childbirth” as the man had so eloquently put it upon their first meeting. “Rigors of childbirth,“ what a laugh, more like the bleedin’ jaws of hell making its way through her bloody sodding uterus. She should have known that all these months later she would have to resist the urge to put a bullet through the man’s forehead.

“I AM PUSHING YOU STUPID DUNDERHEAD!! ONE MORE WORD AND I’ll PUT A BULLET THROUGH YOUR INCOMPENTENT SKULL!! I’M THE ONE HERE DOING ALL THE BLOODY WORK!!” Mary berated the man who looked up at her with wide eyes, his forehead beginning to dot with perspiration. The rest of his shocked face was obscured by the surgeon’s mask he currently had on. He watched the woman lay back and take some recuperating breaths, and looked around at the rest of the operating room as nurses continued to walk around the room looking busy and not phased at all by her outburst. Her husband didn‘t look phased either as he patted her shoulder comfortingly and held onto her hand stoically. He was a brave man indeed as women were known to break their husband’s knuckles during the labor process.

“Now, now, dear, you won’t shoot him.” John tried to sound as calm and placating as possible as he cast eyes to the glass across the room that beheld a tall, dark specter, baring witness to the whole scene. Sherlock was waiting in the wings, if he should so be needed. He had been rather obsessive throughout Mary’s whole pregnancy, as he had equally been during their wedding planning and John was beyond surprised but glad that his best friend had made it so far into the delivery, most men - if not all - were quite squeamish when it came to childbirth.

“THE HELL I WO--- OH GOD!!!!! AHHHHHH!!!!” Mary screamed as another contraction overtook her and removed all thought of speaking from her. “ARGH!!!!!” Mary screamed as she gave a great heave of a push against the resistance the soon to be born infant was putting to not come out. Once she relaxed John reached in to pat her stomach, the baby was always soothed into sleep by the touch of his hand. John hoped now it would work in a similar manner. The nurses didn’t comment on, but certainly noticed that while the Watsons seemed like a perfect family, there was something amiss. It wasn’t their business to comment but how could they know the trials the Watsons suffered, and how little of their “domestic” was resolved. They didn’t speak of it, but did observe that the new parents hardly made eye contact through this entire process.

“Excellent job, Mrs. Watson! One more push and I--” The room stilled when metal was struck as Mary cocked a gun against the doctors forehead. How did she get a gun? The doctor obviously didn’t know the Watsons very well at all. Neither had anyone in the room seen Mary reach into the pocket of John’s jacket to pull out his trusted Browning.

“ONE MORE ’PUSH’ OUT OF YOU, PONCE, AND I WILL SHOOT YOU!! SHUT. UP. I WILL DO THE WORK HERE-AHHH!” Mary was cut off again by her labor pains, shouting through another contractions to push against it, leaving her just distracted enough for John to remove the gun from her grip, flick the safety back on, and put it back in his pocket. John had just enough time to turn back around and see Julia finally make her grand entrance into the world with a great cry.

“Oh! Mary! She‘s beautiful.” He announced to his wife, accepting the newly cleaned and swaddled child from a nurse. She was a tiny, delicate warbling little thing. Once she was in her Papa’s arms however she calmed down and threw him a sleepy smile, as if all the pain she caused Mary was some great joke on her part between herself and John. This pleased John immensely who laughed. Already she had the man wrapped around her finger, Papa‘s girl.

“Doctor.” A nurse called, causing John to look up just as a heart monitor beside Mary’s prone form flat-lined. The cold, sterile ping echoed in John’s ears. The familiar sound gripped his heart in a cold grasp.

“Nurse, I need your assistance here.” The doctor called as he dove into Mary’s womb, where there was obscene amounts of blood pouring out. Mary was bleeding out on the operating table. Doctors and nurses scrambled around the new father, and the rest of the room became awash in white noise and the room faded away. The reality of time and space tilted upon its axis as John heart clenched and he struggled to remember how to breathe. John was beside himself not knowing whether to go to Mary’s side or take care of Julia. He had been harboring so much anger towards Mary only moments ago and now he didn’t want to live in a world and raise their daughter without her.

“I’ve got her John.” Came a deep, familiar voice from behind John as Sherlock gathered his new niece in his arms. He looked to the scene before him as John cried over Mary’s prone form and the operating team scrambled to bring Mary back to life.

“Let me help! I‘m a surgeon, an army doctor! She‘s my wife! Please!!! I beg you please!” Sherlock could hear John beg as he backed out of the operating room, almost unseen with the pink bundle in his arms. He watched the scene inside, holding his breath as the nurses, doctor, and John, freshly gowned, worked feverishly to staunch the bleeding inside Mary’s body and bring her back from the brink. How could such a little thing bring such chaos into the world? He had no idea, but he could never have deduced that. No, this was one of life’s little random events that were never deducible, making feelings and sentiment so intolerable.

“Oh Brother Mine, I warned you. Didn’t I?“ A swoosh from the hospital doors leading to the birthing wing where Sherlock now stood and the tell tale step, clack, step, clack of fine leather oxfords and the synonymous black umbrella announced the dreaded presence of Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock turned to his brother with a sneer. Mycroft stopped just in front of his brother and the child looking from the child to the scene before them. “Caring is not the advantage.” Mycroft repeated yet again. He reminded his younger brother this, time and time again. Yet once again the fool had the good fortune to make something as obscene as friends. Now he was attached to a family and having the affectionate role of surrogate uncle for their newly born daughter. Would wonders never cease?

A nurse appeared from the operating room, breathing a sigh as the doctors continued to scramble and bark orders. Sherlock looked to the nurse, thinking she was there for news, but she was simply there to take a break. Upon noticing that the baby was in the arms of the husband’s friend and was ignored by the staff, she smiled to him. “I can take the baby to the nursery if you like.” The young girl didn’t know who she was dealing with as she reached for the infant. Sherlock pulled her away from the nurses grip and backed away. Mycroft chuckled at her puzzled expression.

”My dear girl, I know you are very good at your job, but let me remind you that this is no ordinary baby, and she is under the protection of the most dangerous and most powerful men in all of England. It would be wise for you not to reach out to take the baby from my brother again.” Mycroft threatened the weary nurse, whose face turned a rather frighteningly shade of white. Sherlock merely smirked, while the nurse bristled with anger. The baby needed to be take care of, and she was just about to remind of them when she was called by a senior nurse from inside the room. She ran back in and was too distracted to pay the two Holmes’s any mind.

“Would you not call that threat an example of disgusting sentiment, Mycroft?” Sherlock teased.

“Not at all, Sherlock, merely the truth.” Mycroft murmured as he watched the men and women work in the operating theater. The two men watched as the doctors and nurses pulled away from the body and looked to the machines before them. Time stopped as they waited for Mary to breathe again. The doctors applied crash cart paddles to Mary’s stomach and chest again, she jumped and they watched. Still nothing. When they tried again, Sherlock listened to John beg for Mary to come back and apologized for the way he had been acting. It really all had been rather silly on John’s part for holding a grudge, Sherlock told him so. If anything he himself should have been angry, but how could he be when everything Mary had done he would have done as well? Even though John was begging her to come back he wasn’t the only one. Sherlock also asked that she not leave his best friend now. Not yet. Not like this.

It was only when the machines began to beep again that Sherlock could risk taking a peek at the new little life in his arms. He regarded her just as he would any person, under a harsh scrutinizing gaze as he tried to deduce her. Much like Irene Adler, nothing came to mind. Not because she had a multitude of secrets to keep but because she was a clean slate, new and fresh, ready for anything life had to offer. He could deduce anything and everything about her, the data becoming corrupted due there being just too many possibilities. The room of Julia in his mind palace was filled to the brim with pink and purple things, infant things and all the information he had researched about raising said infant. Time would tell how those things would be deleted and replaced as the years went by. But not unlike Irene Adler, she thought this deducting face her Uncle made to be rather funny and smiled as she cooed, her new eyes sparkling against the lights of the hallway. His lips tugged upwards in a small smile, and she answered with her own toothless one and a gurgle. This tugged at something long laying dormant inside the man and he found himself cradling her closer to his body. The attachment between the two was further woven when Julia yawned, this gurgle was found to be quite exhausting and burrowed into the smells of Sherlock’s Belstaff. The little thing was already developing a fondness for the smells of cigarette smoke and Bart’s morgue. She burrowed into the coat and smiled as she drifted to sleep. Sherlock began swaying back and forth, humming, his deep chest rumbles sending the child to dream land and knew that he would keep this child from harm forever, that anyone that would cross her path would be making a mistake they would regret for years. Lord, help this girl when she finally entered her teens and developed a fondness for having romantic relationships.

“I may disagree with the idea of sentiment, but you will make a very good Uncle to her Sherlock.” Mycroft noticed. “Give my congratulations to the Watsons, will you brother mine?” Mycroft said backing out of the hallway.

“Leaving so soon, Mycroft?” Sherlock questioned before he reached the doors.

“Matters of state to look over. One’s job is never done.” Mycroft explained whistling and twirling that insufferable umbrella as the doors closed behind him. Sherlock knew better, he was probably setting up a security detail and trust fund for the child as they were speaking and needed to sign some papers. Typical.

A more senior nurse came out of the now nearly empty operating theater. Sherlock noted nervously that John and Mary were no where to be seen. She smiled knowingly to the detective and came to stand in front of him. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the room they’re moving her to, and you can give me the baby. I’ll put her in the nursery.” The nurse said reaching for Julia. Sherlock once again backed up resisting. This causes the baby to stir, whining about being moved, grabbing onto the wrinkles in Sherlock’s coat in her tiny fist with a grimace as she slept on.

“You almost disturbed her.” Sherlock accused, rocking her gently back to sleep. The nurse gave him a knowing smile and put her hands on her hips. Sherlock cleared his throat and looked down to little Julia. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d rather her father see little Julia first and decide what to do for her. She’s his daughter after all.” Sherlock smiled down at the child, whose fingers continued to flex about the folds in his coat. The nurse smiled at the newborn’s hold upon the strange man before her and sighed.

“Very well, I’ll take you to them.” The nurse laughed to herself as she proceeded down the hall, Sherlock at her heels to follow. They came to the door and she opened it to allow the man in. John looked to Sherlock and grimaced seeing the bundle in his arms. The nurse closed the door behind them, shaking her head knowingly.

For as hard as giving birth was for women, when faced with it, men were always at such a loss. Even though John was a doctor himself, he was still a husband and now a father. He hadn’t thought it would have been possible to almost lose Mary because of the baby. He knew the statistics. But how often does one think those few unfortunate percentages would ever apply to them? Now what was supposed to be such a bundle of joy, felt like an albatross around his neck, that was taking away all of the happiness from his life that he had worked so hard to find. Sherlock, who always seemed to have answers for everything, in this moment didn’t know how to begin. But he knew little of how to care for infants and couldn’t keep the child from her parents any longer.

“I brought Julia to you, John. You have yet to meet your daughter properly.” Sherlock’s voice shattered the subdued silence that had prevailed upon the seen, as Mary laid in the darkened room under the one light. A machine next to her prone form beeped shakily, she was apparently still clinging to life. But Sherlock knew, she wouldn’t give up now that she was breathing again.

“Keep that thing away from me.” John growled holding onto Mary’s hand. All he wanted was for Mary to wake up. Luckily, with his help, they were able to save Mary’s uterus so that they could have more children if they chose. But if every birth would be such a struggle, John knew that her likelihood of survival was slim at best. He would not risk it, no matter how much she would want another child. He could barely be in the same room with their new daughter now.

“John-” Sherlock tried again stepping towards them.

“I mean it Sherlock keep it away from me.” John warned, angry tears coming to his eyes.

“She’s not an ‘it’ John.” Sherlock bristled at his best friend’s hurtful nature. Yes, Mary almost died giving birth to her, but was well aware of the risks, and would probably do it again to see this perfect little baby girl come into the world. Now that Sherlock was wrapped around her little finger, he hardly knew how John could be acting this way. “She’s your daughter, and you named her Julia. Now allow me to introduce you.” When John bristled again, Sherlock still pressed forward. “Stop being ridiculous John! I hardly know how to take care of infant. You wouldn’t want Mary to find out that Julia’s first hours in this world were spent with such an incompetent, dangerous man such as myself.“ John closed his eyes trying to pretend he could avoid taking the child. Sherlock tried not to feel pain for his friend as tears fell from his eyes. It was not in John Watson to turn away caring for an defenseless infant even now. Sherlock would not give up, Julia’s place was with John, that he knew. “If you don’t take her soon I’ll start experimenting, and you remember what happened to your favorite navy blue jumper.” John met his eyes with a horrified expression. That was still a sore spot between them. Now he would not set Julia on fire as he did that fateful jumper, but the threat of such caliber of experiments of that nature had John reaching for the child. Sherlock put the pink bundle into John’s arms. “Julia meet your father, John this is your daughter.” Sherlock made the introductions as being shifted about woke up the little baby. She looked to Sherlock, and seeing he was near by looked up to her father, her eyes flashing in recollection from before and stretched reaching out a hand to grab onto something. When John offered his little finger, she grabbed it put it to her mouth with a smile. She sucked away happily at the digit meeting the man’s eyes. This pulled at her father’s heart, he couldn’t resent such an innocent thing. Especially when she felt such free affection for him even though he didn’t want her not two seconds ago.

“Hello little one, you’re what all the fuss is about.” John laughed holding her close with a sob. He did love her, even though it pained him what damage she wrought. The little thing had no idea, how could she? She was too busy coming into this world to know what chaos she created by doing so. Now as Mary recovered, he could come to grips with his new found fatherhood. So far one thing was for certain, he would spoil the little thing rotten. When the bundle in John’s arms started to fuss, not getting milk even though she was suckling on John’s finger, John looked to Sherlock and down to the baby not knowing what to do. Not even her fussing daughter could stir Mary from the coma that gripped her. Her body had yet to heal itself.

The same nurse that escorted Sherlock to the room, came in upon the hearing the baby’s crying. “Someone is making an awful lot of noise. She must be hungry.” The older woman smiled at the infant knowing already the sound of Julia’s wailing. John loathed to let her go just yet. “If you like I can bring you a bottle of formula and you can give it a try, see if she’ll take to it. That’s the best we can hope for right now until her mother wakes up.” At John’s nod, the nurse excused herself, telling John to see if he could shush her until she returned with the bottle.

John seemed at a loss for what to do as he bounced the infant about making sushing noises as he had seen parents do hundreds of times before. When that failed to work, he looked to Mary’s prone form, then to Sherlock desperate for answers. Sherlock gave him a scared look, he didn’t like seeing her upset now, even at being hungry for a bottle. What would become of her Uncle if he was presented with a problem like those that faced teenaged girls? He reached out to the baby to take her from John, who willingly rested the bundle into Sherlock’s arms.

“Let me try something.” Sherlock whispered into the room, and began to hum a familiar sonata of Mozart’s he wanted to play when babysitting the infant. He rocked the child back and forth in time to the tune he hummed. The rumblings of his deep voice coupled with the soothing motions of the rocking seemed to do the trick. The baby yawned and settled back down into a fitful sleep, as she was still a hungry new born. Sherlock gave the baby back to John and continued to hum as John rocked the child.

To anyone on the outside, the two men would prove to look rather silly, but this would be the only way to get Julia to sleep in the future. There would be a recording of the song, of Sherlock humming along as he played his violin, and it would be the only thing to put the child to sleep. The two men while not Mary, would prove to be a capable duo for when she couldn’t be there. From that moment on they would forever be, Julia Watson’s Papa John and Uncle Sherlock.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh that last bit kills me!! I can picture it too!! It's the kind of environment you wish you would get to grow up in but never do... *sigh* that's our lot though isn't it? 
> 
> Oh and I couldn't kill Mary off... That's not my job. I'll leave that one up to Moffat. MOFFAT!!!!!!! *shakes fist*
> 
> Oh and bonus points to those of you if you can get the reference in the title!!! 
> 
> Let me know what you all think!!!
> 
> Comments and Kudos are not necessary but really you should most definitely feed them to the writers who are most definitely hungry in their cages. Believe me. I'm a writer. We won't fling poop at you so much as quote Shakespeare rudely in your general direction and gesticulate as we talk to our characters like we're schizophrenics, but we're not, we're a socially accepted form of schizophrenics that are labeled writers.


End file.
